The X-Files

Two of The X-Files' finest episodes from the series' third season have
been paired for laserdisc and videotape release. Both are written by Darin Morgan,
a favorite of X-Files fans, and each benefits greatly from his off-the-wall
sense of humor and ability to balance comedic and dramatic elements.

"Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose" is considered by many to be one of the
series' true high-water marks, and tells the tale of one Clyde Bruckman (played perfectly
by Peter Boyle) whose ability to see into the future is limited to knowing how a
person is going to die. Elements in the episode include a serial killer, numerous
references to silent film creators, and of course, the stupendous Yappi. The dialogue
and performances are all dead-on, and the story is alternately funny, thought-provoking,
and touching.

"War of the Coprophages," or the cockroach episode, is an entomological
romp in the mythical town of Miller's Grove, where an infestation of cockroaches
may or may not be killing members of the local populace. Although lacking the depth
and resonance of "Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose," "War" is nonetheless
enjoyable taken on its own terms, which frankly, get pretty messy at times.

Both episodes are introduced by creator Chris Carter, whose respect for Morgan
is both obvious and deserved. Hopefully, Carter can coax a couple more teleplays
out of him before The X-Files concludes somewhere down the road.-- Bud
Simons

This little-seen French number's title translates as "Torment." Or more
to the point, "Hell." In other words, not your typical get-cozy-and-snuggle-up-by-the-fire-with-a-loved-one
art flick. But as the film opens, everything is as happy as could be. Nelly (Beart)
and Paul (Cluzet) are young hoteliers with a gorgeous country estate. Paul is the
consummate host and concierge, while Nelly's stunning beauty and playful friendliness
are worth the trip alone. But there lies the problem; it starts with a smile that
lingers too long, a lost keepsake, or a few unaccounted-for hours... and pretty soon
Paul is convinced that his wife is up to no good. By the time the picture ends, Paul
has become hysterically possessive, and L'Enfer's cryptically French ending
will make you glad you can rewind a few times to catch the nuance. The lead roles
could not have been cast better, and Beart does better work here than in anything
else I've seen. As a thriller, L'Enfer is a solid film. As a character study
of the horrific way jealousy can ravage a man's soul, L'Enfer is not to be
missed. --Christopher Null

This gem of a compilation is chock-full of the kind of television that simultaneously
made TV bizarre and insipid in the Seventies. It includes the opening credits sequences
for shows like Baretta and S.W.A.T., commercials for toys like the
Sno-Cone Snowman (that never worked like it did on the ads), and the Evel Kneivel
play set and tons of clips from long-forgotten cartoons. The worst thing about commercial
compilations, though, is when the awful realization sets in that you've been watching
30 minutes of ads!! The very thing that they invented the mute button on your
remote for!!

Who remembers that bizarre Jetsons hybrid, The Partridge Family 2200
A.D.? Or the cartoon Osmonds? There's The Bugaloos, the Banana Splits
(with a craaaazy musical number), H.R. Pufnstuf, and a weird, druggy installment
of Multiplication Rock with a very Tom Petty-ish character. I had forgotten
that the Hudson Brothers show had such a funky, rockin' theme song! Much more excruciating,
though, are the clips from the Donny and Marie variety hour, with the crapulently
clean-cut Mormon siblings doing some " I'm a little bit country -- I'm a
little bit rock & roll" duets, complete with chorus girls going through
the paces of a third-rate Busby Berkeley routine. Guess it's what you'd call an LSD
flashback. Oh, and Peter Frampton does "Show Me the Way" live, with Elton
John doing "The Bitch Is Back" (both of them object lessons in why punk
rock was inevitable).

But the answer to the question, "How bad could TV really get back then?"
has to lie in the mercifully short-lived Brady Variety Hour. This has to be
one of the most vomit-inducing displays of wretchedness ever committed to videotape.
The whole miserable clan (replete with faux Eve Plumb, after the genuine article
said "No, thank you" to this little venture) stands on risers and halfheartedly
mouths the words to a disco medley, with Florence Henderson in a glittery pink gown
with pink boa, Robert Reed in a pumpkin-colored satin tux, and the rest of the brats
in similarly eye-wrenching polyester. Chorus girls swim, lights flash, synthesizers
warble, mirrored disco balls spin, and the Bradys cut up with each other in a most
appalling fashion among the five-dollar Vegas glitz. Yeesh.

If you're under 25, you'll get a good laugh. If you're over 30, it'll dislodge
a clot of fetid memories like a gas-filled corpse rising to the top of a hog-waste
lagoon. --Jerry Renshaw